(A Durnae one-shot that I wrote for a guild prompt awhile ago. Some sexual tones and allusions to torture, don't whine to me if it's not your bag. Takes place during Cataclysm.)

While it would be true to say that the Twilight Highlands hadn't been a peaceful land in a very long time, if ever, it hadn't posed a threat to the Alliance until the Twilight's Hammer fanatics took up residence there. The Alliance and the Horde both claimed their stretches of land, surprisingly with little more than snarling between them, and developed allies among the natives, who had a lot more than snarling going on, and brought the fight right to the cult.

Which was what brought Durnae out to the Highlands. In war there were prisoners, and in war, prisoners are interrogated. No one wanted these psychotics anywhere near their precious Stormwind, so, when you can't bring the prisoner to the interrogator, you bring the interrogator to the prisoner. A small tent was set up just to the east of Victor's Point, guarded by two soldiers with the carefully blank faces of those who were trying desperately not to listen to something they couldn't avoid.

Inside this tent, a draenei woman slowly paced around a table. On the table, a human man was strapped down. A table nearby held a collection of various tools: screws, knives, brands, pokers that were still red-hot, among others. Though the man's body was unmarked, every single tool dripped with blood.

The draenei woman shook her silvery-white hair off of her face and regarded the man. He was stripped down to his loincloth, his muscular body sheened with sweat. His honey-colored hair was dark with sweat at the roots, and crazed blue eyes rolled around everywhere. Mumbles poured from his lips, most often in dark languages she didn't understand. He was a handsome thing, and more than once when she had been working one of her tools into his flesh, she could have sworn she heard a moan instead of a scream.

"Such a shame you're a madman, darling," Durnae finally cooed, leaning forward and tracing a finger over his chest. "I'm always looking for pretty young things who enjoy a bit of pain." She laughed lightly.

"THE END COMES! DESTRUCTION IS ALL THAT AWAITS YOU!"

"Yes, yes, you've told me that already, sweetheart," she replied with a dismissive wave of her hand. A smile passes over her lips as she looks down at him. "Well, since you don't want to tell me anything new, how about I tell you a story from my childhood." Her gaze went distant over the top of her glasses, her smile more innocent.

"Manna owned a tailoring shop. I was no good at it, personally. I could sew up a wound without a problem, but put a shirt that needed a hem in my hands? Or any other kind of sewing project? My hands went stupid. I couldn't stitch a straight line." She laughed softly at the memory, noting also that the man had fallen silent, as though he were listening. "It was for the best, though. Weaving and sewing is hard work on the hands, sweetheart. Have you ever seen the hands of a weaver in town? They are rough, and calloused. But not mine." She slid a hand down and slowly rubbed it up the inside of his thigh. Even madmen feel pleasure, and by his shiver, she could tell he was no different. She laughed lightly for a moment before continuing.

"But Manna still found work for me. I ran the shop most of the time, and when she needed a bolt of cloth from the back, she would send me to fetch it." She locked eyes with him as she continued to stroke his chest. "Manna was gifted, truly, but if she was interrupted while working on a piece, all of her inspiration would be lost. So I would go down to the storage room and collect the cloth she needed.

"One day, I went down and picked up a lovely bolt of forest green spider silk cloth. Behind that bolt... was the biggest rat I had ever seen." She shuddered delicately. "Giant, with dark, matted fur and that long, bald tail. It had been nibbling on Manna's cloth, you see, and it was very displeased at me for removing it. VERY displeased," she explained, stroking the cultist's chest lazily. He was looking at her raptly, his eyes clearer than they had been since he had been entrusted into her 'gentle' care.

Durnae pushed back the sleeve of her dress, offering her arm for his inspection. A deep scar marred the perfect pale violet of her skin. "The giant rat leapt at me, right for my face. I managed to raise my arm in time to block it, so instead of my face, he buried his teeth in my arm. My screams brought Manna down in a flash, and at the sight of her precious baby girl fighting with a giant rat, she got a shovel and beat it off of me." She smiled, and the man smiled with her. "I was a young girl, and it was a large rat. It's possible that Manna saved my life."

She stood straighter and turned away, bending down to pick up a box. "I learned a few things from that experience. I learned my very first poison, specialized to kill rats. I learned of a rat's tendency to take nibbles of your most expensive items. I learned how deeply my Manna loved me." She turned around and smiled, but there was nothing warm about her now. His face went pale and a spike of pure terror shot through his heart at the sight of the box shaking in her arms. "I also learned that a rat... goes for those who are weak. Those who cannot fight back."

She slid a side of the box off. A giant rat, almost a twin of the one from her story, leaped out onto the man. Claws scratched and teeth ravaged the man's handsome face. Blood poured from his wounds.

The guards outside kept their faces carefully blank as they tried to ignore the shrieks of terror and agony, and the sound of cruel laughter.